


you drew a line, made up your mind, now I'm struggling to realise

by hermanncodednewtboy



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Italics, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Drift (Pacific Rim), Trans Newton Geiszler, no beta we die like chuck, post drift effects, uprising do not interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermanncodednewtboy/pseuds/hermanncodednewtboy
Summary: It's the night after the world is saved, and Newt and Hermann are getting together after years of pining. Hermann realises for the first time that Newt is trans, and Newt misinterprets his reaction, and it all goes downhill from there. Newt and Hermann both have issues that they need to get over if they're going to make this work.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, Tendo Choi & Newton Geiszler
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	1. you kissed my mouth, you pushed me out

**Author's Note:**

> cw for internalised transphobia and internalised homophobia throughout. cw for each chapter in the notes at the beginning. title and chapter titles are from the crane wives song "know how".  
> cw for this chapter for brief mention/description of dysphoria.

They're in Hermann's room, Newt pressed up against the door, his head thrown back and mouth open as he draws shuddering breaths. Hermann kisses all over his neck, sucking gently at the corner of his jaw and along the column of his throat, enjoying his small whimpering noises. Without looking, he undoes the next few buttons of Newt's shirt and his tie. 

"Hey," Newt gasps, "you could've asked me to take it off, you didn't have to-" 

"-I will retie it for you tomorrow," Hermann interrupts, "ridiculous that you've forgotten how to, you wear them practically every day-" 

"-I know how! It's just a waste of time to do it every morning!" Newt lies, and Hermann doesn't bother to point it out because he's far more interested in seeing how much further Newt's tattoos go. He undoes the rest of the buttons and drops his head to place sloppy kisses across Newt's shoulders as Newt takes over undressing himself. He's wearing a strange undershirt- a white vest in two layers, something like a cotton-polyester blend on top and something tight and slightly textured underneath, like a fine nylon mesh. The under layer ends at Newts ribcage while the top layer is tucked into Newt's corduroy trousers along with his shirt. 

_What on earth is this for?_ Hermann thinks, untucking the vest. 

"Oh, I'll-I'll take it off. Unless, uhm? No, no, I should take it off, it's fine, I don't mind," Newt says in a jumble, "Just uh, take-take a step back, it's a bit awkward, just gimme a sec." 

Hermann takes a confused step back and watches Newt drop his shirt to the floor, untuck the vest the rest of the way, grab the back of it and start pulling it over his head. 

Without warning, a foreign memory starts to play in Hermann's head. 

_It's the first time he-no, Newton, has taken his binder off. Shuffling on his feet, rocking back and forth in his cold, echoing bathroom, trying to get the tight fabric over his head while ignoring the discomfort of all the most wrong parts of his body making themselves known. That night he lay awake for hours oscillating between the ecstacy of finally, finally having a binder and the crushing weight of the limitations of it. He hasn't even picked his name yet, but he knows that he can't imagine a future where he can only wear a flat chest for 8 hours a day._

"Oh," Hermann says, aloud, stepping back again as a number of things fall rapidly into place: the time they had gotten drunk and Newt had spent 30 minutes quizzing Hermann about his opinions on trans rights, at times seeming frantic as if their friendship depended on his answers (which, Hermann had thought at the time, was perfectly reasonable: he also would've struggled to see Newt the same way if he had discovered that Newt was transphobic), Newt's panic as a med-tech had tried to help him out of his rapidly corroding clothes after an incident with kaiju acid in the lab; Newt's anxiety and irritability when a package of non-vital medical supplies had been delayed by a week (Hermann had not asked what he needed from that package for the sake of his privacy, presuming condoms or hayfever medication), the way Newt avoided using certain types of ID at all costs without explanation. A hundred other small incidents come to his mind, but Newt is speaking. 

"What?" Newt asks, stopped still and giving Hermann a confused look. 

"Newton-" he starts but is suddenly hit with a wave of emotion that isn't his. Joy, quiet and familiar but still strong after all this time. Hermann hadn't realised how much it meant to Newt how he said his name. 

"Yeah?" Newt asks, a little worried now. 

"I didn't... I didn't know," Hermann isn't sure what else to say. He breathes in to try and say something more but is distracted by a wave of relief as he feels his chest, flat and unscarred and his own. He puts a hand above his own heart and feels a doubling of perspective; envy and a new privilege in equal parts. 

"Didn't know what?" 

Hermann shakes his head to clear it, "Uh, that you, you're-" Hermann loses his train of thought, memories that belong to Newt blending with his own, memories now experienced in double, and as he realises the ramifications of what they have done he forgets he was speaking at all. 

"You didn't know that I'm trans? Oh. Shit." Newt's entire body slumps, and he takes a deep breath "Oh. Oh, okay, uh, sorry, sorry dude, uhm. It's okay, you're alright, I'm sorry, uh, I get it. Don't worry, I get it, really, I do," Newt laughs humorlessly and picks up his shirt, straightening his binder and pulling the shirt back on, "Sorry about the, uh, the mix-up, I thought you knew, but it's okay. I don't mind. I won't bring this up again, don't worry. You wanna just have a drink or something? Or-or I can go, if you want, if you'd rather. I can just go. It's okay, no hard feelings, just forget this ever happened if you want-" 

"Wait, Newton, no," Hermann finally gathers his thoughts enough to speak, grabbing Newt's hand and stopping him from leaving, "Stop. Please. At what point did I say that changed anything?" 

"I've been in your head, dude. And I've worked with you for ten years before that. You didn't need to say anything, you're giving me that look," Newt snaps. 

"What look?" Hermann snaps back.

"The ' _oh shit_ ' look," Newt tugs his hand away from Hermann's sharply and finishes doing up his buttons, "Listen, it's not worth it if you're not into guys like me. I'm pre-op for everything - though I'm sure you've guessed that now - and I really don't want you to try anyway if you're not interested. I promise you, it's not worth trying anyway. You'll just regret it. Just- I'll go, okay? I'll go, and tomorrow we can pretend this never happened, alright?" Newt gives him a tight smile and picks up his tie. 

"No hard feelings, dude. Promise. Just forget about it," Newt finishes, and by 'it' he means a decade of longing and fantasising and waltzing around each other; he means the fact that they fell in love more than ten years ago through nothing but their letters, he means the years and years of tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, he means the fact that earlier that day he woke up seizing in Hermann's arms and all that either of them could think in that moment was how neither of them could see a future for themselves without each other. He means 'forget that I'm in love with you and have been for so long I can't remember what it feels like not to want you.' 

"Newton, you're misunderstanding me. Please don't go," Hermann pleads. 

"I just need tonight, okay? Gotta sort my head out. But I'll see you tomorrow, Hermann," his voice is steady but his hands are shaking like they were after the first Drift. He opens the door, and makes to step out. 

"Newton, I still-" 

"Don't fucking say it," Newt snaps, quiet and cold, "You know you can't. Someday, maybe; not now. Don't lie to me." 

"Newton, I'm not-" 

"Goodnight," Newt mumbles in German, and leaves. The door clicks cold behind him. 

"I'm not lying, you idiot!" Hermann half shouts, and considers chasing after him. His head is jumbled, full of feelings that are his and aren't, and memories that are his and aren't, woven together so that they all feel instinctively part of him. He doesn't know what he could say that would convince Newt he's still in love with him. He's reeling from the torrent of new memories, and Newt has already made up his mind about what Hermann is feeling.

_Stubborn bastard._

He sits on his bed and stays there for a long, long time, sorting slowly through memories and once he's reasonably certain that he knows what is him and what is Newton, he brushes his teeth, turns off the light, takes off his shoes, and then lies in bed, fully clothed, in the dark, and aches.

_Newton asked for tonight alone._


	2. I am not brave, I blind my eyes to what won't stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for pretty explicit and intense internalised transphobia for this chapter, as well as gratuitous pining and dumbassery.

In the time it takes Newt to get from Hermann's room to his own he has made up his mind that he is going to go to the party that is surely about to begin in the Jaeger bay, and he is going to get very, very drunk, and he is going to do what he has done every day for the past ten years (arguably his entire life): completely ignore how he feels. 

He has a rushed shower and changes into actual black skinny jeans, his tallest dancing shoes (old but gleaming black boots that give him an extra 3 inches and make a very satisfying _thump_ when he walks), and an old black t-shirt with a kaiju print on the front. They don't make many of them anymore, but he supposes that they might start again, once the kaiju are just a cultural scar instead of an impending apocalypse.

He tries not to remember how Hermann's mouth had felt against his, how Hermann had looked at him, _hungry_ , like he was an _oasis_ until it had clicked, and his whole expression had gone blank. And _sure_ , Hermann doesn't make that face often, and the last few times he did it was right after a breakthrough, standing at his chalkboard, eyes wide, and frozen as he finds the words to describe what he's just realised. But 'breakthrough' or 'epiphany' doesn't make sense for what Hermann had just figured out. It only makes sense as an expression of disgust. 

Newt puts on cologne. He tells himself he's fine, and stomps to the Jaeger bay, but not before digging out his old pride pin and putting that on, too.

The music is already going, something techno with distorted vocals, and beyond that he can hear the irregular thumping that means dancing. He can smell alcohol and sweat and a heavy concoction of disparate perfumes and colognes. Newt thinks about how Hermann would wrinkle his nose, and his chest starts to hurt, so he beelines to find Tendo. 

When Newt spots him through the crowd he is doubled over laughing at a cleared workbench surrounded by mismatched stools, with several j-techs that Newt knows only in passing. One of them is called Zero; Newt remembers because ze had introduced zimself with zer pronouns and made sure to ask for everyone else's. He feels safe around zem.

"Hey brother! Thought you'd be busy all night," Tendo winks at him, "Glad to see you! We're just talking about what our plans are. For the future. Now there is one." 

Newt sits between Zero and Tendo as a different tech from across the table passes him a can of beer. Newt drinks it fast, and then has another, and another, slotting into the conversation easier than he normally does. He doesn't mention Hermann once. He wishes that he could say it's because he isn't thinking about him.

Once Newt is pleasantly buzzed, he suggests they dance, and soon afterwards he finds that Hermann had almost completely slipped from his mind. The hollow aching in his chest is easily passed off when his heart is beating fast to a song he knows, easier still to ignore when Tendo drags him over to where someone has managed to organise a strip-the-willow, with a separate boombox blasting something folky and fast nearby. They're able to join on the end just in time before they're pulled into the middle, and at that point, spinning around and around and around and laughing with people who've just survived the apocalypse, Newt really does forget everything except keeping time and making sure he doesn't fall over. 

Several hours pass, and Newt finds himself sitting on the floor in a quiet corner, leaning his head on Zero's shoulder, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Tendo left not long ago, taking a small group back to his room and wishing Newt a good night. Newt feels sick, but it's not from the alcohol (he hasn't had much after the beers) or the dancing, or the 5 cups of lime jell-o he's had (no one else was going to!) He's thinking of Hermann again. 

"I'm so pissed at him." Newt says without turning to face zem.

"Hmm? Who?" Ze asks.

"Hermann. Dr Gottlieb? The physicist."

"Oh, yeah, I think I met him years ago. Don't know him well, though. What did he do?"

"Fucking everything," Newt gestures vaguely at the room in front of him, "Okay, well... main point is that I've been fucking in love with him for ten years. We wrote letters to each other for a while and I was already doomed. And then we met and he was just so... so fucking perfect, I couldn't stand it, and I messed it all up and then we didn't speak until we got stationed here together. And even though it had been _years_ I was _still_ in love with him. And it just never went away. And then we drifted today- I've been in love with him _for ten years_ and we drifted today and I find out that he loved me back the entire fucking time!"

"That's cute," Zero says, "Sucks that you didn't realise earlier but you know now, right?"

"Yeah, except he didn't know I was trans! I have no fucking idea how he didn't pick up on it, this guy predicted the internal structure of a fucking wormhole and build a model that let him predict when the Breach would open down to the _hour_ but he didn't realise that I'm not cis. What the fuck? And when he found out, he looked at me like… I don't know," Newt thinks for a moment, trying to place his expression. He shakes a nagging thought from his head and lands back where he had earlier that night. "Like he... didn't know who I was anymore, I guess. Like it, like it changed everything. Like he didn't recognize me."

"Oh shit. Yeah, that hurts. I'd be pissed at him too." 

Newt gulps down half of his bottle of water, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"And now I've got to get over him. I've loved him for ten fucking years and he's loved me back but he finds out that I'm trans and, and he looks at me like that! I don't know how the fuck I'm going to do this."

There's a pause while Newt listens to the pounding music and the pounding in his head. 

Zero says, "It'll take some time, but you'll find other things. I don't know how much time though, I've never exactly, uh, well I've never been in your situation exactly."

"Yeah," Newt says, and presses his lips together, trying not to imagine kissing Hermann again. "It's so fucking stupid. It doesn't change fucking anything. I thought he knew. I thought he'd not care, he didn't seem the type to be so fucking hung up on my fucking body. I mean, if he was then why did he- no, that's not... Okay. Fuck. I don't even know. I'm just _so angry_. But I kinda wish I was angrier, you know?"

"Mm?" Ze says, not understanding.

"I wish I was angrier at him. Like I am angry, I am, it's fucking ridiculous and when I talked to him about trans stuff years ago, he didn't seem to care. Not when it came to him. I don't know what's changed," Newt groans, pushing aside a flood of feelings and memories that aren't his, and takes off his glasses to try and think clearer. "I just wish I was angry enough that it didn't sting."

"Yeah. Anger comes from pain, though. Or fear sometimes. It's a secondary emotion either way. It's useful sometimes but there's always something under it," Zero says sympathetically, "And you're right to be hurt. It always stings."

"He loved me. He fucking loved me, like, for real, a lot, as much as I love him. He thought I was adorable, apparently. And funny. And smart. He wanted to stay with me. But that wasn't enough. I'm just too-" Newt's voice cracks, and his eyes ache like he might cry, "-my body's just so awful he can't love me anymore, I guess! He didn't fucking recognise me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, I wish I was angrier at him, it just fucking hurts!" and he's crying now, hot tears and drawing breathe like he's drowning, and his chest hurts and hurts and hurts.

"Hey, hey, you know that's not true. There's nothing wrong with you," ze turns to wrap zer arms around his shaking shoulders, "there is nothing wrong with you."

"But h-he'd still love me, i-if I was different," Newt gasps and clings onto zem, and he knows he shouldn't be talking like this, but it feels true all the same.

"Hey, he's not worth it if he would. That's complete bullshit. You know that. Newt, you are more than what he wants from you," Zero reassures him, and Newt knows that ze's right.

There won't ever be anyone like Hermann again. If there is, he doesn't want them. He knows how Hermann takes his coffee, and his tea, and that he takes hayfever medication in the summer but certain brands make him drowsy, he knows that Hermann likes apple juice a lot but doesn't like citrus of any kind, he knows that Hermann lights candles on Shabbat exactly when the sun sets, he knows that Hermann calls it childish to have a favourite animal, but he can name at least 15 species of jellyfish and, when he feels safe, talks excitedly about all their habitats and quirks. Newt doesn't want anyone who doesn't have perpetually white sleeves from his chalk dust, who doesn't like pop singers from the 2010s but refuses to admit it, who doesn't own a ridiculous parka three sizes too big and wears it often. He doesn't want anyone other than Hermann, and it's worse than that: he _wants_ Hermann. He wants to share a bedroom- no, a _bed_ with him. He wants to wake up every morning with his arm around Hermann, he wants to put his toothbrush in a little holder next to Hermann's on their sink, he wants to watch Hermann fix his hair and he wants to be nagged about not using Hermann's shampoo, and he wants to kiss him and hold his hand and say _"I love you,"_ and hear Hermann say, in any language he pleases, _"I love you, too"._ Newt wants and wants and wants and he feels hollow with wanting, like there's nothing inside him but wanting: a vacuum that demands to be filled but there is nothing to fill it with. 

Newt cries for a long time, and Zero is endlessly patient, just saying, "you're okay, you'll get through this, I'm sorry," but zer voice is deep and slow and calming, so when Newt finally feels like he's run out of tears, ze talks him through breathing normally again.

"I'm okay. Well, I will be. No fucking clue how," Newt swallows, hard, exhausted to his bones and not wanting to start crying again, "I'll figure it out. Thanks dude. For real, thank you. And sorry for… you know."

"It's okay. Sometimes that stuff gets in your head, I know. Love is hard, shit gets extra complicated when you're trans, but we've gotta take care of each other. And, to be fair, your story is maybe the most drawn out one I've heard, but this shit happens."

"This happens? Falling in love with your colleague who saves the world with you and you find out has been in love with you the whole time too but rejects you when they find out you're trans? You must have different trans friends to me, cause that's a story I haven't heard before."

"It sounds like you guys were quite a bit more than colleagues, but no," ze laughs gently, "I meant just the rejection part. The fact that yours came after all that is, uh… a lot."

Newt smiles tightly, wipes his eyes and outs his glasses back on. Zero gets up and heads towards the makeshift bar, squeezing Newt's shoulder before xe walks away. Newt starts to stand up, not entirely sure whether he's going to go back to his room or to the bar as well. He assesses the room, weighing his options, and hears loud, distinct footsteps.

_Th-thump, thump. Th-thump, thump._

The first beat isn't a footstep, it's too sharp, but it overlaps with the second one, which _is_ a footstep, and the next is too. Newt knows this sound well: it's the footsteps of someone walking with a cane.

There are plenty of people in the Shatterdome who use a cane, Newt's sure, he's just forgetting everyone except Hermann, but there's definitely a lot of other people who do, he just doesn't leave the lab enough, and maybe it's not even a cane maybe it's something else maybe he's just mishearing-

Newt trips over absolutely nothing as he sees Hermann trying to politely push his way through the crowd, and collapses back onto the floor with a crash, a twisted ankle, and a humiliating squeak.

"Newton," Hermann says, breathless as if he's been running. It's past midnight by now, Hermann should've been asleep hours ago.

"Hey, Hermann," Newt coughs, his chest tight, "what do you need?"

Hermann opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He chews on his tongue, and wrings his hands, eyes darting around looking at everything but Newt.

_Can't even look at me anymore? Can't even fucking look at me, I'm that disgusting to you, huh?_

Hermann's mouth falls back open, his face a picture of shock, "No, of course not. That's not why- you couldn't ever- Newton, what are you talking about?"

 _Shit_. he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Not important. Can this wait till tomorrow?" Newt becomes suddenly aware of the pin on his chest, and brings one hand up to fiddle with it, considering taking it off. It wouldn't make him any less trans if he did - any more lovable - so he leaves it.

"No, it can't," Hermann snaps, "You have misunderstood me completely, and I'm afraid that if I don't explain you will still think that-"

"-Please, dude, you don't need to explain it."

"I evidently do."

"You don't, and I don't wanna hear it. I _want_ to have some fun, then go to bed, and I want to show up to the lab tomorrow like always, and I want to forget that ever happened," his voice comes out sharper than he means it too, but he doesn't soften. Anger feels much better to hold onto. "And I _don't_ wanna hear your fucking excuses."

"Not an excuse, an exp-"

"-Explanation is worse. Can you just give me some fucking space?"

"Newton, can you _please_ listen to me?" Hermann raises his voice, looking distraught and crumpled and worn out, and completely and utterly stunning. Newt's anger picks an inopportune moment to die in his chest. He leans back, still on the floor, and sighs.

"Alright."

"You misunderstood me. I wasn't- I couldn't, you aren't…" Hermann stammers like he's forgetting his lines, "Newton, this doesn't change anything the way you think it does. I was surprised and confused by an _entire life's worth_ of memories sprung upon me, it was nothing to do with you. You blindsided me, Newton, and then left before I'd had a chance to… to sort my mind out."

"That's not the point. It's the way you fucking looked at me, and you stepped back, like I'm something broken and wrong that you couldn't stand to be near," he takes a breath and looks at Hermann's face through his foggy glasses, "I don't blame you for it. Just hurt."

"I apologize that I hurt you," Hermann steps forwards slowly, like sudden movement might make Newt bolt, "and you would be right to blame me if I gave you this impression. I didn't mean to hurt you, it was not my intention, and I am truly sorry that I did. But I can promise you, Newton, I do not care for you any less. I don't feel any different."

"You don't need to spare my feelings, dude. I'll get over it," Newt sniffs, taking his glasses off to wipe them and putting them back on.

"I don't want you to. Well, not that I mean I want you to be hurt, I mean, I don't want you to... I don't want you to get over the rest of it. The other feelings," he's avoiding the word _"love"_ like it's a slur. Newt feels filthier than he did before he showered.

"Just drop it, Hermann, I don't want your pity. I don't want anything from you that you have to force. I'm not mad at you. I still want to be friends," his voice breaks, his glasses cloud again, and he curses being a teary drunk, "But please, don't be stubborn and mess this up."

Hermann looks indignant, "Stubborn! _Me?_ You are calling _me_ the stubborn one? You aren't listening to a word I say, you're imagining a world where I don't- you're inferring problems that aren't real, Newton!"

"Then how come you can't fucking say it?"

"What?" Hermann says, but he knows the answer.

"You can't say that you love me! I don't expect you to, Hermann, I don't want it if you can't, but you keep dancing around it like it's something dirty, like I'm something you're ashamed of!" Newt says, standing on shaking legs. He's shouting now, the music is loud but not loud enough to stop heads from turning.

Hermann glances back, brushes a hand across his eyes and hisses through gritted teeth, "Can we go somewhere else to talk about this, please? I'm getting a migraine."

Newt tries not to soften - is tempted to deny him and insist that they stay - but he'll be damned if he'll prove Hermann right about being stubborn.

"Fine." Newt says and storms off in the direction of their lab. 

Once the music is fading behind him and the air smells like copper and damp rather than perfume and alcohol, he shoves his balled-up fists in his pockets and keeps them there. Hermann is walking a deliberate step behind, and Newt is glad of it, because as they stop running into people in the halls Newt can feel the desperate ache in his chest again and he's not sure what he would do if Hermann was walking closer.

In a quiet corridor a few turns before their lab, Hermann stops Newt with a tug on his arm. His hands are cold. Shaking, for a hundred different reasons, too many of which involve Newt. After Hermann let's go, his skin tingles pleasantly where his hand had been, but it just makes Newt feel ill. 

"Newton," Hermann says, voice soft, his eyebrows drawn together and his pretty mouth left a little bit open, like he wants to say more but can't find the words.

"Hermann," Newt doesn't mean for it to come out like a plea. He's against a wall, enough space on one side that he could walk away easily if he wanted. Hermann is leaning in, looking small and vulnerable. They're just about the same height, thanks to Newt's shoes, but Hermann looks inches shorter from the way his shoulders hunch.

"I love you," Hermann breathes, and then switches to German, a little louder, "I love you. Newton, I have loved you for years. I have loved you for so long I cannot remember a time before I loved you. You know this?"

Newt feels his heart shatter in his chest, tears prick at his eyes. He can't have this. He wants it more than he's ever wanted anything before, but he can't have this.

"Yeah, I know," he swallows and bites his lip, turning away for a second to compose himself. "I love you too, Hermann. But-" Newt starts.

"-No, Newton. There is nothing else. I love you. Please, let me… Let me love you," Hermann brings his hand up to Newt's cheek, touching softly, ready to pull away.

"You can't love me like this," Newt whispers, pulling his hand from his pocket to put it over Hermann's. Holding his hand there. He doesn't mean to. He can't let go.

"I can." He sounds like he's sure. Like he believes it with his whole being.

"What if you're wrong? What if you think you can and you turn out to be wrong? Hermann, I don't want to fuck this up," Newt's breath comes in shaky gasps and he's trying so, so hard not to cry.

"Please let me prove you wrong," Hermann says. His knuckles are white around the handle of his cane. His whole body is held tense and still like he's fighting himself; to run or to lean in Newt isn't sure. Whatever it is, Hermann stays still.

"I can't fucking lose you. You know that, right? I can't lose you. I could be happy if we were never more than friends. Just don't… Just promise to make me your best man, okay?" Newt switches to English and smiles, and he means it, but every part of his body aches except the place where Hermann's hand is touching his cheek. 

"Newton," Hermann says. He looks lost. He takes Newt's hand and presses a kiss to the palm with trembling lips, like he doesn't know what else to do. 

"Hermann, please. Please don't do this," Newt doesn't know what he means.

"Do you mean that? Really? Do you really not want this?" Hermann whispers, holding Newt's hand in the space between them.

 _"Fuck_ , Hermann," Newt bites the inside of his lip and shakes his head, "That's not the right question."

"What is? Because I-" he cuts himself off like he would choke on the words. 

"I don't know. We can't do this."

"Because you think I can't-" Hermann takes a steadying breath but finishes it shaking harder, "You think I can't love you."

"We can't take the chance that I'm right."

"I _know_ that you're wrong. _This_ ," Hermann squeezes Newt's hand, "This I know. I love you, Newton, still. And you're a _moron_ if you think anything could change that. That's what I have been trying to tell you all night."

"I love you too, Hermann." and he does the last thing he wants to: he pulls his hand back and takes a step away.

"Please, Newton, trust me," Hermann pleads, still reaching his hand out. Newt has never seen him look so broken.

"It's not- it's not you. It's not your fault." Newt takes another step back, and another, and finds his back against the opposite wall.

"I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow Hermann. Take care of yourself," and before he gives in, starts crying or loses his self control and runs into Hermann's arms, he turns around and starts walking. His footsteps are loud enough, fast enough carrying him away that he doesn't have to know if Hermann says anything more.

Newt walks for a few minutes before he realises he doesn't know where he is, or where he's going. He took a wrong turn somewhere and he's passed the lab. It takes him a while after that to find his way back to his room, but when he does he tosses the pin into the bottom drawer of his bedside table with all the anger he has left. He kicks his shoes off and climbs into bed, hollowed out with exhaustion, and lies as still as he can until sobs have him trembling from head to toe. He cries, and cries, and then lies still again. Sleep takes him, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as far as dances to do when you're drunk, strip-the-willow is very much 'youre asking to throw up' but it's also super simple and easy to teach/pick up just by watching, so it made sense to me that if there would be cèilidh (wow we really spell it like that huh? it's pronounced kay-lee, it's a Scots word) dances at the apocalypse-averted party, strip-the-willow is a pretty likely option. and there would definitely be cèilidh dances at that party.


	3. I am not brave, I keep my focus on what is safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for internalised homophobia and homophobia from a parent. also a whole bunch of italics, really sorry if those are hard to read, I prefer them to bold. if someone wants tho I can post another version of this whole fic with bold instead?

Hermann wakes with a sour taste in his mouth and a headache. He lies still for a little while, cautious and afraid of something he's not quite aware of yet. It comes to him, slowly.

_ Newt, telling Pentecost about his ridiculous plan. Newt, disappointed. Newt, on the floor, seizing, bloody, something loud and heavy and mechanical wrapped around his head like a claw. Newt, clinging onto him as he comes to after the first drift. The first of two. Newt, annoyed; Newt, surprised; Newt, smiling. Newt holding his hand. Newt's memories, some of them. The world was saved. They lost Pentecost, and the Hansen boy, and the Kaidonovskys, and the Wei Tang brothers. Newt, hugging him once, hugging him twice; Newt and his beautiful, shameless grin. And Hermann, leaning in, waiting for permission which was gladly given, and then they were in Hermann's quarters, and then Newt was getting undressed, and then Newt was leaving, upset. Wait. Newt was leaving- oh, no. _

Fuck.

_ Newt, drunk on the floor next to a J-tech Hermann had met once or twice. Newt, eyes red and wet and hurt, more hurt than Hermann knew what to do with. Newt, angry, and Newt, crying, and Newt ignoring him and talking past him and not listening. And Hermann, scared stupid, terrified of his own heart, making Newt think he was the problem. _

_ Newt, in no uncertain terms, telling Hermann that he didn't want him. Or, wait, no, he didn't say that. He said... _

_ "Please, don't be stubborn and mess this up." _

_ "I can't lose you" _

_ "You can't love me like this" _

_ "We can't do this" _

_ "I love you too, Hermann" _

_ "It's not your fault." _

_ "See you tomorrow. Take care of yourself." _

Hermann suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

_ "I love you too, Hermann." _

_ "Please don't do this." _

What the fuck kind of statement is that? 

_ "See you tomorrow." _

Hermann sits up and let's the feeling crash over him. The confusion- why did newt leave? Why is he so convinced of something that he invented? Did Hermann really look at him that way? 

The regret- he should've been more insistent, he should've spoken louder or clearer, he should've made his love so known and so unambiguously unconditional that all of Newt's fears had melted away. 

The anger- that stupid, cowardly bastard, willing to die to prove his point but not to even try letting Hermann love him. What the hell does he think they're going to do now? Go back to how it was before? To the arguing and the denial and the tense silence? 

There's a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes; but he can do that, if it's what Newt wants. He can swallow this down. He's been doing it for ten years. He can swallow this down.

There's shame, too, somewhere underneath all of the new feelings from last night. It's not laying on top of his love, like an oil slick on the ocean; it's woven into it. His love and his shame are a tangled ball of two different threads that sit in his stomach, heavy like lead there but filling his chest with something light and sweet that hurts  _ so good _ . It's familiar, both the love and the shame. He's had some amount of both for as long as he can remember. 

Hermann goes about his morning as normally as he can, trying to feel the weight lifted from his shoulders more than the weight of what's gone wrong. _The Breach is closed_ , he thinks. _The world is safe,_ he thinks. _We can rebuild,_ _together. As friends or something similar. I'll be with him, at least. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is safer._

After a strange shower where his body is equal parts familiar and unfamiliar, he stands and inspects himself in the mirror. His head is full of thoughts that aren't his that make him warm, and make him ache.  _ Beautiful, gorgeous, adorable, perfect, handsome- _ they're all spoken in Newt's voice, and Hermann finds himself choking back tears knowing that this is how Newt sees him. 

Swallow it down. It's not supposed to be like this. You aren't supposed to love him. Let it go. He doesn't want it.

He knows the last part isn't true: he can find all the evidence in his own head, but he would not -  _ could not _ \- override Newt on this. 

_ "You can't say you love me." _

There's the shame again, all bitter and bile and tooth and tongue. He can use it this time, at least. He's practiced at finding reasons not to act on his feelings.

Hermann recalls what his father had said about people like him- not to him, not ever knowing that  _ his son _ was  _ one of them _ , a traitor to the family name and to his father's pride and to the very concept of decency. He was something degenerate, incapable of feeling real love, a predator waiting to be unmasked. He was dirty, filthy, wrong, and as much as he had tried to be the good son that his father had wanted, he couldn't. 

He had tried, several times, to decouple "good" and "straight" in his mind. As of yet, his attempts hadn't stuck. 

It's strange: the new part of him that didn't have that association. Newt had not been quiet about that part of his queerness, but still, it had seemed inconceivable to Hermann that Newt would feel so utterly hopeful about it. There is a place in Hermann's mind now that hears "gay love" and doesn't hear it as oxymoron. A strange feeling. A good one. 

To Newt, to love another man is only so wrong as it is for Newt to exist as a man at all. 

And the regret, again.

Hermann dresses in clean clothes and stands at his door, remembering Newt with his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling and his red mouth hanging recklessly open. He thinks about how if things had gone just slightly different, he would have woken up next to Newt this morning. He'd have woken up warm, and safe, and held, and he'd have gotten to say "I love you," and hear newt say, in any language he wanted, "I love you, too," and if he ached it would have been in a gentle sort of way, a pleasant sort of way, the sort of way he could get used to.

But things haven't gone that way. Hermann woke up cold, and alone, and he aches in a way that he's not sure he'll ever be able to stop thinking about. He aches, and he wants, but he remembers.

_ We can't do this. _

Hermann swallows his heart, and heads for their lab.


	4. got to wrap my head around what my heart is telling me

Newt is trying, resolutely, not to think about last night. He is failing. Miserably, pathetically; almost like he's not trying at all, almost like his brain keeps dragging him back because there's something he's trying to unravel. But no. There's nothing he wants more than to put all of it behind him, to greet Hermann with a platonic smile and to just wait it out until he stops thinking about kissing him. Oh- there he goes again: thinking about it, imagining greeting Hermann with a chaste kiss and a "I'm a dumbass, love, but will you still have me?", followed by more kissing - less chaste - and guiding Hermann back to _his_ room this time and- 

There it is, the reason he's trying not to think about this, catching him off guard for the fifth time this morning. Finish that sentence and see Hermann come face-to-face with all the parts of Newt's body that are exactly the opposite of his taste. It won't work. Hermann will be disgusted, probably try to pretend he's not, and slowly but surely he will leave. He will realise his mistake and he will leave and it will be too awkward to go back to being friends and Newts entire life will collapse around him, he will be left completely alone, abandoned and unloved and unlovable. 

Newt laughs at himself for even entertaining the fantasy that they might work out, and cuts it off before it can becoming sobbing.

So Newt shoves it out of his mind, and focuses on making them coffee. It's his second cup, likely to be Hermann's first unless he stopped by the canteen on his way, which would only happen if Hermann is very, very desperate to be composed before he arrives at the lab. 

As puts down the sugar and Hermann's favourite mug on the counter, he is struck by a memory he can't ignore: it's simple and calm and very, very familiar, worn like the pages of a well-loved book. 

_ Hermann is exhausted down to his bones, running on three hours of sleep and three cups of coffee and hardly keeping his eyes open. Newt walks in, trips over his own feet and only barely manages not to break his glasses or his nose, curses quietly in both English and German, and then has the audacity to say to Hermann, "You look like shit, dude." _

_ Hermann responds, not looking up, "And you look like the physical embodiment of teenage egomania, as always, Newton." _

_ "Good morning to you too, dickhead." _

_ After that, the lab is filled silent for a few blessed moments before Newt busies himself with making coffee in the loudest way possible. A perfectly normal fuss Newt is making on a perfectly normal morning. _

_ Several minutes later, a mug is put on his desk, and Hermann is halfway through protests about his personal space when Newt says, "Dunno how much sugar you take, exactly, so I just put in as much as I thought would dissolve. Milk, too; I know you take some of that. Sorry if it's, uh, if it's not how you like it." _

_ Hermann is stunned silent. He doesn't understand. Newt is already walking away, so he waits until Newt has snapped his gloves on and picked up his scalpel to take a sip. It is indeed far too sweet, with far too little milk, but Newt made him coffee. Newt remembered how he likes his coffee. He was rude and insulting and Newt made him coffee. He feels warm and light and there are butterflies filling his chest and shame twisting in his gut. He's terrified of how happy he is. _

Then snippets start to come to him one after another after another, a river flowing fast and sweeping him away with it.

_ Hermann, standing at the shatterdome, terrified. _

_ Hermann, looking at Newt, and thinking to himself "oh, fuck. this is going to be difficult" as his heart rate picks up and his mouth goes dry. _

_ Chalk snapped between his fingers. He's never done that before. He's not sure why he did it this time: it's something Newt said, something about the way he said it, something about the way his mouth formed the words. He doesn't understand why he isn't angry. _

_ A dream of a life with Newt. Wedding bands on both their fingers: simple, a pale metal, with an opal set in each. They lie in bed together, legs tangled and hands entwined. It was a short dream, but one Hermann thinks about often _ . 

"Good morning, Newton." Hermann walks in. He's dressed softer than usual: no blazer, just a warm sweater. Newt wants to hug him, bury his face in his chest and never let go. Newt wants to cry. 

"Morning, Hermann. Mug, sugar, milk in the fridge," he says instead, pointing at each.

"Thank you," Hermann says. His tone is formal. His smile is just on the warm side of tense. 

"No problem, dude." Newt says, staring at the wall seeing nothing. More memories come forward, now a steady stream of thoughts and experiences that weren't his this time yesterday. Some are painful, some are embarrassing, many are of Newt. Too many are of Newt. And Hermann's feelings are too strong for Newt to handle. 

_ He's stuck on an equation. The answer has come out larger than what he started with, and that's impossible. His eyes glaze over as he tries to find the mistake. He blinks, and tries to focus, but his concentration slips through his fingers like water. He - Hermann - turns to ask Newt for a second pair of eyes, but he stops. Newt is concentrating on a problem of his own, his brow furrowed, his tongue sticking out just slightly, rapping his fingers rhythmically on his desk. He is incomprehensibly beautiful, breathtakingly charming, disheveled and restless and absolutely stunning. Hermann stands on his ladder staring for far longer than he should. He is helpless. Hermann loves him. _

_ He is years, years younger, and for the first time listening to Newt as he records data and observations in his little old recorder. The experiment is something unsafe, though Hermann doesn't remember what exactly. Newt's accent curls around his words in a way that makes Hermann want to do something reckless. His tone is proud and gleeful, but thoughtful too, his observations scientific but phrased conversationally. Newt's voice shoots up three octaves when his beaker shatters and he cries "shit!! these aren't all pyro glass!?" _

_ Hermann's heart stops as he whips around to see how hurt he is, and is overcome with weightless relief when he finds that Newt is alright. Hermann yells at him for his recklessness, and Newt yells back to defend himself, and Hermann loves him. _

_He is young, grinning helplessly while smelling Newt's cologne on his letter. It's like pine trees and the ocean and maroon, a fascinating blend which just barely manages to avoid 'aggressively masculine'. He presses a kiss against Newt's name, another against the little drawing of a lizard next to it, and another to the, "To my dear Hermann," that Newt has been starting his last few letters with. Hermann's heart feels too big for his chest, but he wouldn't give this feeling for anything. Hermann loves him._

_ He is eating alone in the mess hall because Newt is away supervising the collection of kaiju samples. He misses Newt's voice, and his smile, and his frown, and his messy hair and his dirty glasses and his silly ties and he even misses Newt snatching things off of his plate. Hermann thinks of calling him. He doesn't. Hermann loves him. _

_ He is doodling lizards over his notes. They don't look quite like Newt's ones, but they remind him of Newt. Hermann loves him. _

_ He tries his first lemon sherbet because he knows Newt loves them. He doesn't like it, but he buys a bag of them anyway. He puts them in a bowl on his desk. They bring Newt over at least once a day, asking for one. Hermann passes each by hand rather than passing the bowl; he says it's because he doesn't trust Newt to take just one. Truth is, sometimes their fingers brush when Newt takes them. He hardly admits to himself that's why. Hermann loves him. _

Newt is brought back to his body with a  _ crash _ as he drops his mug of hot coffee onto the floor. He isn't sure where he is and has no idea what he was doing last, but on instinct throws his hand to his side to grip his cane, and as he takes some of his weight off of his feet and tries to rest it on his cane, he finds that he is not, in fact, holding a cane at all when he topples unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Newton!" Hermann rushes over, dropping to his knees, letting his cane fall next to them, and cradling Newts head with his feezing, freezing hands, "Are you alright? What the hell was that?"

Newt feels as if he's been turned inside out, and puts one of his hands over Hermann's, "I'm an idiot."

"You are nothing less than a  _ complete _ moron, Newton," Hermann says, his anger sounding forced and fearful.

"I love you, Hermann."

Hermann makes a face like he's just put his heart between Newt's teeth and Newt has bitten down, hard. "I love you too, Newton."

Hermann looks at Newt like he looks at the stars, at the ocean, at his formulae; like the mysteries of the universe are hidden in his smile lines and Hermann could kiss them out of him. 

Newt really is a moron.

"I was wrong." He's never said those words before with anything but shame. There is hope, too, in his voice this time.

"You have been wrong about a great many things, Newton. To what are you referring to now? Wrong that something was going to catch you when you fell?" Hermann spits with little venom.

"You love me?"

Hermann swallows; his eyes soften but he speaks through gritted teeth.

"I just said as much."

"Nothing will change that."

"Nothing could," and there's that unshakable certainty, again. 

"Last night."

"Yes?"

"I was wrong last night."

"There- you said many things last night. You really have to stop being vague, Newton. It doesn't suit you."

"I was wrong that we couldn't... You know- be? Together? In a, a romantic sense. More. Whatever. I was wrong about everything," Newt returns Hermann's gesture from last night, taking one of Hermann's hands and kissing his palm. Hermann's mouth hangs softly open, his eyes wide. Newt wants to kiss him properly. Instead, he goes on.

"I wasn't even looking at you. Not… not really. I thought I knew what you were thinking because I- because I have a hard time imagining anyone thinking anything else. I was just scared. I was being a coward," Newt laughs at the memory of something he had declared to Hermann hardly more than a day ago, "And I shouldn't have not believed you. I'm sorry, really sorry. I didn't- I couldn't see anything I wasn't already expecting. Or- I guess I couldn't see anything except what  _ I _ see. Whatever. Point is, I was insecure and I hurt you with it. I'm really sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

"Newton..." Hermann says his name like it's something he's not allowed, "You are quite forgiven."

Newt beams at him, sunshine embodied. Hermann's hands are still on either side of Newt's face, one of Newt's holding him there. He reaches up with the other to slide gently across Hermann's shoulder and up to cup the back of his head, while Hermann's thumb strokes tenderly across Newt's cheek. Newts grin fades into an open-mouthed expression of reverence.

"Can I kiss you?" Newt hardly breathes.

"Yes," Hermann whispers, and leans down just enough that Newt can meet him in the space between them. It is careful and too short, Hermann pulling away breathless after just a few moments, but in those moment's Newts heart soars.

Hermann quickly buries his face in Newt's shoulder and curls one hand into a fist gripping the back of Newt's shirt. He shakes like he's crying, and Newt finds that he's crying too, arms wrapping around and just holding as close and as tight as he can. Hermann's chest is flush with his, Hermann bending his whole body like a pipe cleaner so he can be as close to Newt as he can, and Newt can't even find it in himself to be worried about his chest. About anything. Hermann loves him. Hermann is here, kneeling on spilled coffee on the hard, cold metal floor of their lab, holding him with every ounce of strength he has. He smells like lavender and chalk and freshly cut grass, somehow, and if he smells like smoke it's the woodsmoke kind, not the cigarettes he used to smoke. He smells like home.

"I'm sorry, you're getting your trousers all soaked in coffee, they're gonna have coffee stains, these are your nice ones, I'm sorry-"

"Enough apologies from you," Hermann smirks like he knows a very good secret, and then kisses him again. Less hesitant, still so, so careful, like any sudden move might make one of them panic and run. But it's soft, and warm, and real, and when Hermann says, "give me a few minutes dear, I'm going to go change" Newt sits on his bed while Hermann changes in the bathroom, and when Hermann comes out looking unbearably gorgeous in the dinosaur-patterned pyjamas Newt had given him as a joke last year, and says, "darling, I'm fucking exhausted, Herc can wait a few hours for the report, I'm going back to bed," Newt runs to grab a t-shirt he can sleep in, and Herc finds that he can, indeed, wait a few hours for the report. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr Dumbass got his pipe cleaner boy! good fucking gd this took me so gddamn long and it's so many gddamn words and I love it so much. please leave a comment if this fic didn't make you want to kill me.


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